


Must be October

by Anonymous



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Case Fic, Family, Gen, Humor, Possibly a little crackish, Wild Ride, no editing we die like robins, of sorts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: One bad drawing sets off a wild month in Gotham City.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Prologue: The Drawing

**Author's Note:**

> October 1st. 5:43 P.M. Wayne Manor, "The Basement", AKA the Batcave.

“I don’t _get_ it,” Jon complained. How are _your_ lines so straight?” 

Damian just. Looked at him. “They are lines, Jon. Lines are straight.” 

“I know!” Jon gestured wildly at his paper. “But my lines keep coming out _like that_!” 

Damian tilted his head, studying the offending object. Several deep, dark pencil lines criss-crossed across the paper. 

“You’re trying too hard.” 

“ _What_?” 

“Stop trying to draw a straight line. Just draw a line.” Damian watched the younger boy flip his pencil over and start erasing, tongue sticking out of his mouth. “And don’t press so hard.” 

Jon groaned, and promptly scribbled all over the paper. “I give up.” He reached for another piece of paper. “I’m starting over.” 


	2. Explosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> October 2. 11:37 P.M. The Narrows, Gotham City.

“Red Hood,” Batman said slowly. Even over the comms, everyone could hear the gritted teeth. Red Robin could just imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why is the Cordney Building on fire?” 

The what on what, now? 

“What do you mean why is the Cordney Building on fire?” Under the tone of casual snark, Tim could recognize his brother’s question as genuine. 

“I mean,” Batman grit out. “Did you set the Cordney Building on fire, and if you did, why?” 

Oooh. _That_ didn’t sound like it would end cleanly. 

“Okay, am I the only one hearing this?” 

Red Robin tilted his head. That wasn’t a can-you-believe-this-nerve-of-this-guy kind of statement, more of a okay-seriously-what's-going-on type. 

“No?” offered Nightwing, and Tim was glad he didn’t have to speak up first. “Should we know why the building’s on fire, Red?” 

“Well, duh. It was part of the plan!” 

Red Robin blinked. What? “Did I miss something? Because I don’t remember blowing up Cordney being part of the plan.” 

“Okay. Okay, look. Everybody look.” 

Red Robin looked down at the computer built into his glove, activating the hologram to display the pictures Red Hood was sending through. There were a few pages of notes, diagrams, and floor plans—and then a hastily scribbled...picture? 

“Is that, or is that not, the Cordney Building?” 

“That’s J—that's a child’s scribbling, Hood!” Robin snapped over the comms. 

There was a moment of silence. Red Robin pressed his gloved wrist against his mouth to hid his snickers, and there was a put-upon sigh over the comms. 

“Okay, _how_ was I supposed to know?” 

“To be fair, B,” Nightwing piped up. “That _is_ the spitting image of the Cordney Building.” 

“Can I ask, though,” Red Robin piped up. “How exactly you got to ‘blow it up’?” 

“It’s been scribbled over,” Red Hood said, voice dipping into a defensive tone. “I thought that meant ‘obliterate by any means.’” 

“Okay,” Nightwing said. Tim could hear the laughter he was swallowing down. “Okay. Itwas condemned, anyways, no one got hurt, it’s owned by a rich company that was gonna tear it down. And Batman, you and Robin and Black Bat took down the smuggling ring and Red Robin and I fulfilled our objectives while Red Hood was...blowing up the building, so we’re good. All good.” 

“ _Wait a minute_. If I wasn’t supposed to be blowing up Cordney , what _was_ I supposed to be doing?” 


	3. Seeing Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _  
> **October 3. 2:47 A.M. Clickton District, Gotham City.**  
>  _

October should’ve been fall, so it should’ve been a crisp night with just a lingering hint of summer heat. Instead Gotham City was as much a sweltering oven of crime and bad attitude as it was in July, and the Bats were spending another dark, humid night working in uncomfortable armor. Well, it was as comfortable as they could get it...but in this weather, Dick Grayson felt anything warmer than a T-shirt was torture. 

It was an all-hands-on-deck night. A smuggling ring Batman and Black Bat had been tracking was set to be working on a major shipment, so they’d called in assistance from all available associates that night to spread out across the city at possible locations for the impending hand-off. 

Black Bat and Batman and Robin had taken the most likely points, which were not far from each other. Batman and Robin had hit the jackpot, and Black Bat had been able to come to their aid. 

Red Hood had been stationed in the Clickton District, about three blocks from the condemned Cordney Building, but had ended up zero blocks away from the Cordney Building. Presumably. By the time anyone had gotten in contact with him he was at least a street away from the Cordney Building, watching the place go up in flames. 

Meanwhile, Nightwing and Red Robin had, so far, had relatively quiet nights thanks to the nonactivity at their stations, and then quietly went on to their patrol routes whilst Red Hood and Batman yelled back and forth even as they worked on _their_ patrol routes (Robin letting out a put-upon sound every so often) and Black Bat wrapped up the smuggling case. The two brothers chattered cordially (for the most part—Nightwing could tease people extremely cordially, thank you very much) in the meantime, and decided to meet up after patrol for a good old rooftop picnic. Black Bat was invited, of course, and Red Hood, to help him cool down, and Robin, too, so that Batman could return to the Manor and have a few hours of peace so _he_ could cool down. 

It didn’t mean anything that they decided to meet up on the rooftop across from the Cordney Building, it really didn’t. 

Red Robin and Nightwing were the first to get there. The fire had been put out, and the firetrucks and varied official-looking people and gawking civilian crowds had dispersed a while back. What remained was a crumbled, ashy mess of wood and stone more akin to a child’s attempt at a lean-through than a proud Gotham building. 

“That just looks _sad_ ,” Red Robin said, folding his arms over the low wall that surrounded the rooftop. Nightwing leaned next to him, plastic bags of cookies and chips settled by their feet, a tray with six cold drinks balanced on the wall by his elbow. 

“Yeah.” It was a simple enough statement outwardly. But even if Dick hadn’t been born in Gotham like his little brother had, he’d grown up there, felt the sort of...awe, and quiet dignity, of the older Gotham buildings, brick and stone rather than steel and glass. The Cordney Building had been one of them. Since it had been condemned, it was destined to meet a similar end anyways, but there was something humbling about bearing witness to the stately old tower’s demise. 

Movement from below snapped him out of his thoughts. Nightwing blinked, shook his head hard, then stared, letting his head tilt to one side. "Uh, Red. Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” 

Tim leaned forward over the wall. “Maybe? You say it first.” 

“No, you say it first.” 

“I’m not saying what I’m seeing. If it’s not actually there you’ll make fun of me.” 

“I asked first, and anyways, you just admitted to seeing something ridiculous, so I would’ve bothered you and made fun of you anyways.” Big brother privilege. “Also I don’t believe what I’m seeing so I think we’re seeing the same thing.” 

“Okay, okay. Are you seeing a stuffed animal army marching out of Cordney?” 

“Yep.” 

“Well then. On the plus side, I’m not delirious.” 

“On the downside, maybe we both are.” 

“What in God’s name is going on?” Robin hissed as he popped up between them both, clutching the low wall surrounding the rooftop and peering over it. Nightwing shifted to make room for him. 

“You see them too?” Red Robin asked. 

They all had enough experience to recognize an eye-roll behind the mask. “ _Obviously_ , I am not _blind_ , _Red Robin_.” 

“Be nice, Robin,” Dick said absently. He said the words so often he never really seemed to notice them coming out of his mouth most the time anymore, he mused. “On the upside, it’s unlikely all three of us are delirious?” he couldn’t help but add, lip quirking. 

“More importantly on the downside, you blunderheads, there’s a legion of stuffed animals flooding the street,” Robin stated. 

“Someone has to be controlling them?” Red Robin suggested. Nightwing noted the hint of uncertainty to the statement, and reached over Robin’s head to squeeze Tim’s shoulder. 

“Most likely,” he agreed. “But we need to find out who.” He glanced around. They should probably move, but he needed a moment to decide what their move should be. 

“And what they want,” Robin added darkly. 

“Really?” Everyone jumped-not-jumped as Black Bat appeared, putting her hands on Robin’s shoulders and pushing herself up to her toes. “Oh.” 

“What’s up, suckers,” Red Hood announced, swinging onto the roof. Nightwing felt his body tense, every instinct screaming they needed to _hush_! And turned his head sharply, his “Shhh!” blending with three others. Red Hood sighed as he loped over. “Don’t tell me, the suits are still—WHAT THE--”


	4. Human Shield/Spokesman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _  
> **October 4. 4:02 A.M. Wayne Manor, “Way Downstairs”, AKA The Batcave.**  
>  _

Bruce fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, then thought _hell, who cares_ and just did it. “Let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “You discovered...about thirty robotically controlled stuffed animals emerging from the remains of the Cordney Building, and without further investigation, you _blew them up_?” There had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation, Bruce assured himself. He knew, after all, that his children were not stupid. 

Dick blinked, seeming to collect his thoughts. Behind him, Cass rubbed her elbow, Damian huffed, and Tim stolidly pursed his lips and remained silent. 

It was Jason, also positioned behind Dick (Bruce got the idea they were hiding behind him, which wouldn’t work because A. Jason was taller than Dick and B. there were too many of them trying to hide), who spoke up. “To be fair, I panicked.” 

Bruce blew out a breath, pressing the space between his eyebrows. 

Evidently, last night, the five younger nighttime vigilantes on patrol had decided to meet up, on the building across from the ruins of the Cordney Building. They had seen—an army, they said—of stuffed animals leaving the building, which had somehow...blown up before the vigilantes had left the rooftop. 

Bruce’s children were, unfortunately for him at times, very good liars, which meant that it was only later context and motives that led Bruce to deduce that the animals had not simply exploded, someone had blown them up. Jason, evidently, considering his outburst. 

Nightwing had then taken control of the situation, taking Red Hood with him to scout the ruins however they could, sending Black Bat to scout the area, leaving Red Robin, and Robin to run preliminary scans on the...stuffed animal remains, and contacting Oracle to help attempt to tag possible radio frequencies or such. 

Nightwing, Red Hood, and Black Bat had come out with no leads. Oracle listed out a few possible avenues, whilst Red Robin and Robin deemed that the mechanics within the stuffed animals were too fried to be revived without assistance, wouldn’t blow up in their faces, and was unlikely to contain a tracking device. 

They had then converged on one of Nightwing’s safehouses to further analyze their evidence. They had decided to keep an eye on the situation and follow all possible leads, but also, apparently, to keep the matter silent from Bruce. 

“We had—and still have—no idea what objective they were going to be used for,” Dick was saying. “Maybe in the long term it would have been a better if we could let them go, scout after them—but if they all split up, and considering some of us would have to be hunting for a controller, there would be too many of them and too few of us—even if we _did_ call in all Gotham backups, and assuming they were all available to receive a message. So in the end, maybe Jay needlessly blew up a pile of robotically-enhanced stuffed animals, but maybe he also stopped some evil plan.” 

Duke—the only kid not hiding behind Dick, just sitting cross-legged in the chair by the batcomputer watching the show—raised a hand. “Okay, so maybe they had nefarious purposes, or no purpose at all. What if they’d been on—I don’t know, some important mission to save the city? Or just someone?” 

Dick shrugged. “Well, I guess it’s technically possible, but...” 

“But this is Gotham,” Tim finished. 

Duke nodded sagely. “Good point.” 

“In any case,” Dick went on, “It’s already happened, and all we can do is move on from there.” 

“And you kept this from me, why?” Bruce asked tiredly. Lord only knew, past experience had taught them keeping secrets was a _terrible_ idea in this business. Bruce was trying, he really was, but sometimes...he didn’t know if it was fair of him, didn’t think it was, but sometimes he wished his family could meet him halfway. 

Dick’s face softened a bit. “Well, everyone was still in a tizzy over the Cordney building, so...we figured it was better to give you some time first.” 

For Bruce’s sake, or Jason’s? It wasn’t a question he could ask, Bruce decided. 

“Alright then,” he sighed. “All I ask is you keep me updated—if someone is scheming somewhere, it won’t help any of us to be holding only half the pieces. And...if you need my assistance...” Shit. What comes next? 

“Sure thing. Thanks, B.” Dick was smiling. Bruce felt a rush of gratitude for the most emotionally adept member of their family. They didn’t deserve him, Bruce thought. Well, _Bruce_ didn’t. 

He nodded, and turned back to the computer. Behind him, he could hear the younger vigilantes moving, speaking to each other in soft voices. Talk over, the silence they had held as Dick played spokesman no longer needed. 

Duke hopped off the chair and disappeared from Bruce’s line of sight, joining his siblings. In a voice loud enough for Bruce to hear, he noted, 

“Y’know, sometimes I don’t know if I should be glad I have the day shift, or disappointed.” 

The others immediately erupted into jokes and teasing jabs. Bruce smiled at his keyboard. 


	5. Threats at Gunpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _  
> **October 5. 4:36 P.M. Wayne Manor.**  
>  _

Tim was at the Manor. 

He had his own apartment, over in the city proper, but he’d needed some WE papers, and it was just simpler to head over to the Manor after class and snag them from B’s office than to ask the man to send him scans. And then Alfred insisted he stay for dinner, and all the Wayne kids had a hard time telling the man no—so here he was, with his laptop in one of the Manor’s many sitting rooms, papers scattered around him, tapping away. 

The building shifted, and Tim absently catalogued the minute creak from the staircase above and a little to the right of the sitting room as Damian-trying-to-be-quiet (a distinct sound as compared to Damian-normally, Damian-in-a-hurry, or Bruce/Jason/Dick/Duke-trying-to-be-quiet. Cass-trying-to-be-quiet was a whole other ballgame.) 

Anyways, apart from his brain’s lazy identification of the source of the sound, and assumption that there was no real threat, Tim paid no attention. 

Maybe he should have? 

There was the feel of smooth, wet plastic against his temple, and Damian was hissing in his ear. 

“Listen, Drake. I don’t know _why_ Todd took the entire fall, or why Grayson is playing along, but if _anyone_ finds out Todd wasn’t the only one to act that night, there will be trouble.” 

Or not. Tim didn’t look up from his laptop. “I’m insulted that you think I’d snitch,” he said calmly. Granted, if he was snitching on any of his siblings Damian was truthfully most likely, but ‘siblings don’t snitch—not when it really matters’ made the top ten list of sibling truths.” 

“You’ve given me no reason to believe otherwise.” 

Tim rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. I bet.” Damian was probably right, but it’s not like that was entirely _Tim’s_ fault. 

“I’m just protecting my interests, Drake.” 

“I suppose.” Tim sent off an email to Lucius Fox. “You going to go threaten Cass, too?” 

“Cain...and I have an...understanding.” 

“You mean you’re too scared of her to try.” 

“Am not.” 

“Are too.” 

_“No_ , I am not.” 

Tim tapped at his laptop. The screen filled with a media player, and loaded to reveal a scene in one of the Manor’s many hallways. Damian stood, cup of tea in hand, lips moving. A blur, and then Cass was flipping him to the floor. 

Cold, _wet_ liquid slid down the side of Tim’s face, dripping down his neck and onto his t-shirt. 

_“You--!”_

Tim slammed his laptop closed as Damian retreated backwards, water gun held out in front of him. As the younger boy sprinted out of the room, Tim dropped his laptop as gently as he could in a hurry onto the coffee table, grabbing his water bottle off the floor as he swung himself off the couch. 

He wasn’t _too_ worried. Damian may have been trained as an assassin since he could walk, but Tim’s been learning non-lethal tactics for six years, building on and improving his skills. That’s more than half the number of years Damian’s trained, and _Damian_ has had to do quite a bit of style adjustment. 

Tim told Damian once that once Tim started trying, Damian had already lost. He’d truly believed that. He still did. 

And he felt completely secure in the idea twenty minutes later, in the backyard, empty water bottle in hand as he sprinted back towards the house, Damian’s screams and a weak jet of water from a half-empty water gun trailing after him.


End file.
